


Hunted

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2018 SPNKinkBingo [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Possession, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Hypnotism, Mind Control, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 01:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You and Sam have tracked Michael’s whereabouts to a secluded forest. The hunt doesn’t exactly go as planned.





	Hunted

Your lungs burn as you run, arms pumping at your sides with determined desperation. You  _knew_  splitting up was a bad idea.  _Goddamnit, Sam._  

It’s pointless to run, you know this - but he saw you, locked those dead, mossy eyes on yours…

You froze, cell and archangel blade forgotten amongst the dirt and twigs of the forest floor as you broke in a dead sprint.

If you can just get back to Sam, maybe-

There’s a fluttering of wings, and then the archangel is standing a few short feet in front of you, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as he completely blocks off your path.

You sharply swerve to the left, nearly tripping over a raised tree root, and then to the right, dive-rolling under a cluster of thin branches and plastering your back against a wide tree trunk-

And then you wait, feeling helpless and naked without your weapon and phone.

There’s no sound except for your panting and rustling leaves, but there’s a thickness to the air, a pulling in your gut-

The only warning you get is crisp crunch of crushed leaves and twigs underneath a perfectly polished shoe…

And then you’re caged against rough bark between two muscled arms, biceps bulging underneath a pristine, white dress shirt.

“Whoops,” he whispers, face taut in a wide grin, stolen eyes an even deeper green against the surrounding foliage.

Your breath snags in your chest, cutting off any semblance of a response.

Michael tucks his chin to his chest, looks at you from underneath the shadow of his tweed cap. “Did you really think  _you_ …could hunt  _me_?”

“No,” you breathe, frantically shaking your head. “No, I wasn’t - I didn’t…please. We just want Dean back…” You swallow, release a shaky exhale. “Please…let him go.”

Dean’s lips stretch as the archangel widens his smile and his eyes sweep over the length of you, sparking with something wild as they settle back on your own.

“We?” he asks. “You must be speaking for Sam.”

“Well - yeah, of course-”

“Sam isn’t here.”

“He is,” you say, voice strengthening. “He’s out here right now looking for me and-”

“But he isn’t here. So let’s leave him out of this conversation, hmm?”

“What? I don’t-”

“You say you want Dean back?” He shuffles closer until you can feel the heat of him bleed through your clothes. “I think…” Bark digs into your back as you press yourself harder against the trunk. “I think you just want to  _feel_ him again.”

Heat floods your belly at that. “What? No, I-”

“I think you’re lonely without him…” His eyes are hooded now; hungry. “I think you miss his touch.” He moves a hand to run his thumb along your cheekbone.

“I can help you with that.”

Your belly tightens as heat explodes under your skin.  _Shit_. Is he actually implying-

“N-no,” you stammer, mouth suddenly dry. “No, I want Dean-”

It all happens so  _fast_ -

Michael gets a tight grip on your upper arms, and then  _spins_  you, your back flush to his chest, one heavy arm hooked around your middle-

And then he’s sinking, taking you with him until you’re both seated on the soft earth, your knees drawn up between his.

“Stop!” you shout, struggling against the iron coil of his arms. Your protests are silenced however, when he clamps a meaty palm over your mouth.

“Shh…” His lips brush at the bolt of your jaw, stubble scraping at your skin as he ducks his chin to the slope of your neck.

“Let’s help each other out,” he says, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating into you. “I’m gonna give you something you crave…” His arm tightens. “And in return, you’re gonna throw Sam off our trail.”

Our?

What the hell does he mean-

Fuck, he’s working your pants open now, shoving his big hand down underneath the double layers of your jeans and panties. You gasp out loud when his fingers pass over your sensitive clit to gently cup over your dampening entrance.

He stills his hand, and then hooks his heavy legs over yours and spreads his feet, further opening you up for him.

You whimper into his palm as he starts to work two fingers into your slick heat and a shameful surge of heat bursts through you at the stretch.

He’s knuckle-deep now, and you can feel yourself rippling around the unmoving intrusion. You get one hand on the hard bicep of his working arm, the other on the thick forearm sealing your mouth shut, grounding yourself.

Molten heat simmers in your belly as he starts a deep, languid rhythm. Your legs reflexively try to close on their own, but the archangel uses Dean’s powerful thighs to keep you spread wide.

Michael’s palm pulses against your clit as he works his fingers in and out, and it has liquid fire whooshing through your veins, flushing you all over.

“That’s it,” Michael croons, lips warm against your jaw. “Don’t fight it. I have Dean’s memories; I know what you like, what turns you to  _putty_.” He works a third finger into you, and you groan at the burning stretch.

You hate that he’s doing this to Dean, hate that he’s stealing some of his most private thoughts for his own twisted gains.

And you hate that it feels so fucking good.

He’s curling his fingers now, crooking them at that rough patch so deep inside-

Your stomach hardens as that familiar, fiery ball of pleasure blooms bigger and hotter with every wet plunge.

“You’re about to break for me, aren’t you?” he rumbles in Dean’s gravelly baritone. You try to say no, try to voice your protest, but all that comes out is a strangled moan against his salty palm.

And the sick part of it is, you don’t even care. You  _can’t_  care that it’s Michael, not Dean, making you feel so good. You’re so fucking close that your mind tries to convince you that this is okay, it’s still  _Dean’s_  fingers - but you know it’s wrong, and you can only pray that Dean isn’t awake enough to realize what’s-

“And you know what happens  _when_  you break for me, don’t you?”

He stills his hand, presses the heel of his palm flush against your clit-

“You’re  _mine_.”

You start to shake your head against his hold, but then he stiffens his arm, makes it shiver so that his immobile fingers are trembling, vibrating inside you-

“ _Mine_.”

You  _wail_  into his hand as you fall over the edge, blood whirring in your ears as stars burst behind your welded eyes-

But he doesn’t stop, keeps his fingers pulsing deep inside while your hips buck and spasm. He finally pulls his wet hand free and wipes it on your shirt once you’ve gone completely boneless, lets his other hand fall from your mouth to cup you under the jaw, tilting your face up to his.

“ _Good_  girl,” he breathes, thumb stroking your damp cheek. He reaches into the front pocket of his pressed slacks, and retrieves your abandoned cell.

“You know what to do,” he says, breath hot and sweet.

You nod into his hand and take the phone from him, thumbing in Sam’s number before bringing it to your right ear.

“Sam?” you say, voice flat and foreign. “No, I’m fine. He isn’t here. I’ll meet you back at the car.”   
  


You power the device off before the younger Winchester can argue, and when Michael presses two fingers to your forehead, you know you’ll soon be hunted too.


End file.
